consider a naked body, frail.
he is weak, day to day, and hardly immovable;
but he will shatter under the pressure
of the slightest breeze.
this man, he is not a skeleton; only
skin draped over some bones.

this man considers life with his paintbrush-
painting the abstract nature of realism;
because really, what is unique
if not abstract?
footprints sprayed onto canvases
through generally emotional but
completely disassociated brushstrokes,
this man is walking into the walls,
becoming their body.
soon, he will paint this to be something
that he is a part of;
this mural upon which he now graces himself.

his body as a brush, the painting has now
become less about the canvas and more about
the skin on which the backlash is recorded.
this motivation has been betrayed, this
unique ideal of abstract, the pressure
of the walls closing in, to find that he
is the wall that he encloses himself in,
and the brushstrokes upon it are
indistinguishable with the brush.

02/07/2004

Posted on 02/07/2004
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams